Connected
I’ve never had more ways to connect with people.
I can text someone across the country.
Watch my friends’ children grow up online.
Send a funny video in seconds.
Comment on a post.
Heart a picture.
Share a memory.
Video chat.
Voice message.
Follow.
Like.
Subscribe.
And somehow…
I’ve never seen so many lonely people.
That includes me.
For something that promised connection, technology has become surprisingly good at making us feel alone.
Now, don’t get me wrong.
I’m grateful for social media.
I’ve met wonderful people because of it.
I’ve stayed connected to friends I would’ve lost touch with years ago.
I’ve found recipes, books, podcasts, restaurants, encouragement, and more dog videos than one person should probably admit to watching.
It has brought a lot of good into my life.
But somewhere along the way, I started confusing interaction with connection.
They’re not the same thing.
I noticed it first in my own life.
I almost never feel lonely at work.
It’s not just because I’m busy.
It’s because I’m connected.
I laugh with people.
I pray with people.
I solve problems alongside people.
I hear stories.
I celebrate victories.
I carry burdens.
Someone notices if I’m having an off day.
I notice when someone else is.
That’s connection.
Then I go home.
I can spend an hour scrolling through pictures of people I love.
Watch stories.
Reply with a heart.
Leave a comment.
Laugh at a reel.
And somehow…
Feel lonelier than I did before I picked up my phone.
That fascinates me.
I’ve also realized something else.
My phone doesn’t just connect me.
It curates me.
Its algorithms quietly decide what I see.
What opinions I’m exposed to.
What stories appear in front of me.
What keeps my attention.
Before long, my little corner of the internet starts to feel like the whole world.
It’s easy to forget that someone else’s feed looks completely different.
That they’re hearing different voices.
Reading different stories.
Living inside a different version of reality.
No wonder it’s become harder to understand one another.
We’re often having completely different conversations without realizing it.
But I don’t actually think social media is the biggest problem.
I think it’s loneliness.
Loneliness has a way of making substitutes look satisfying.
A notification feels almost like someone checking on you.
A heart reaction feels almost like being seen.
A comment feels almost like a conversation.
Almost.
But not quite.
I’ve started wondering if loneliness isn’t simply the absence of people.
Maybe it’s the absence of being known.
Being known requires time.
Presence.
Listening.
Curiosity.
Shared meals.
Shared silence.
The kind of conversations that can’t happen in a comment section.
When I think about the people who have changed my life, none of them did it through an algorithm.
They did it by showing up.
By sitting across from me.
By asking another question instead of giving another opinion.
By staying.
I’ve noticed something else too.
The more connected I feel to God, the more I want to connect with people.
Not perform for them.
Not impress them.
Not collect followers.
Simply connect.
Because that’s what He does with me.
He gives me His attention.
He listens.
He reminds me I’m known before I’m productive, successful, or interesting.
And somehow that makes me want to offer the same gift to someone else.
Lately I’ve started paying closer attention to loneliness.
Not treating it like an enemy.
Treating it like a signal.
Maybe it’s reminding me to call someone instead of liking their picture.
Maybe it’s inviting me to meet a friend for coffee instead of sending another meme.
Maybe it’s asking me to close my laptop and open my front door.
Maybe connection has always required more than proximity.
Maybe it has always required presence.
When I read the Gospels, I notice how often Jesus was sitting around tables.
Eating.
Listening.
Laughing.
Asking questions.
Sharing meals.
He certainly could have reached people from a distance.
But over and over again…
He chose presence.
Maybe that’s still how real connection happens.
One conversation at a time.
